


Lucky Charms

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [244]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 12:07:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6565507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sparrowsverse Asked: Hawkeye. Has to use another weapon besides a bow and arrows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky Charms

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Hawkeye snarled as he bounded across the floor, sacrificing speed to bound clear of the shattered glass that was strewn across the floor.

A pair of ratty boxers and little else was not the best attire for what felt like another fucking alien invasion.  Hawkeye dived and rolled behind the couch where Lucky was already cowering.  In his mouth, he’d found the arrow that Hawkeye had left on the table, mid-repair, when he’d finally sloped off to bed late the night before.  The shattering of glass had woken him, and only then had he realized he hadn’t, as was his custom, brought a bow and a handful of useful arrows up with him.  They were all still across the room, along with his communicator, cellphone, and his pants.

The arrow Lucky had found was missing its tip and vanes, and was still technically only an arrow through custom.  “Good boy,” Hawkeye said anyway, ruffling his dog between the ears.  There had to be something…

He heard the front door burst as it was kicked open.  “ _Tuk-tuk,_ motherfucker,” someone yelled out.

The Tracksuits.  Fabulous.

Lucky growled, soft and low.  Hawkeye looked at his dog, then looked again.  Lucky was wearing the collar Kate got him, the one with the little arrow charm.  Somewhere, without him noticing, she’d added a small bone charm too.  

Hawkeye unclipped them and weighed them in his hand.  They were small, but solid metal, something heavy and no doubt expensive.  They’d do.

The bone rebounded off the wok hanging over the stove, the cheap art print that came with the apartment, and the mug he’d left out the night before to ping the first Tracksuit in the eye.  The second spun around at his friend’s yell, and that was the opening Hawkeye needed to leap up, the hand with the palmed charm slapping over the Tracksuit’s mouth.

Hawkeye watched him choke on it for a moment before sighing and applying a Heimlich.  He was a hero, after all.

Tracksuit stood up, still a little dazed.  Hawkeye smiled and delivered a haymaker that laid Tracksuit #2 out flat.  Kind of a hero, anyway.


End file.
